


Fear of the Dark

by thesnadger



Series: Summer's Over [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Actually There's No Profit, And No Fun, Depression, Family Feels, Gen, Making Ford Feel Guilty For Fun And Profit, Pain, Pretentious Overarching Metaphor, Suicide Attempt, only pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesnadger/pseuds/thesnadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after making it clear to Stan that he would have to find another place to live, Ford receives a phone call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of the events begun in "Summer's Over." You don't need to read the other two fics to understand this. Just know that it takes place in a word where, after the Weirdmageddon was resolved and things returned to normal, Ford stuck to his original plan to kick Stan out of the Shack. Stan left Gravity Falls headed towards parts and fates unknown.

There was no moon that night. No stars to see by, only thick, black clouds rolling in from the south. Stan’s car was parked by the side of the road, on the grass. The only light there was came from his headlights.

He was running out of money. He’d forgotten how damn expensive it was to be homeless…not that he’d been spending it well. So many nights in motels had eaten it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to start sleeping in his car again. If he started doing that, well…then it really was over. That part of his life where he’d had a home, a business, friends…a few friends at least. That life had been replaced with the one that had been waiting in the wings to take him back.

He was bleeding money and not making much back. He kept trying to put down roots, even shallow ones, but nothing seemed to stick. Whatever instincts had gotten him through this before had dulled with age. Gotten tired.

Stan turned off his headlights. When he was younger, the first time he’d had to live on his own, nights like this scared him more than anything. A man sleeping by the side of the road was easy prey in the dark. On nights like this…no moon, no stars, no light to see by. There was no way to tell who might be creeping up on you until they were close enough to do you harm. Even after he’d settled into his brother’s house, Stan would get nervous on pitch black nights. For a year and a half he’d leave a lamp on all night, damning the expense, just so he could sleep.

But that was a long time ago. He didn’t fear the dark anymore.

He looked down at the object in his lap.

###### ...

Ford couldn’t get settled.

He’d sit down at his desk with the intent of working, then find himself pacing the house. Walking up and down the stairs to the basement. Fiddling with the scrap that the portal had been reduced to, muttering to himself that he should cannibalize it for parts, then getting distracted and wandering outside.

It had been like this for a while. His typical ability to focus with laser-like intensity on his work seemed to have deserted him, and he couldn’t understand why.

Perhaps it was a little bit of cabin fever. He’d gotten used to traveling on the other side of the portal, after all. Sequestering himself in his house for so long might be beginning to take a negative toll. He briefly considered heading into town for a change of scenery, but decided against it. He didn’t care to go through the whole song and dance he’d had to endure last time.

Ford had learned that the people of Gravity Falls were, as a whole, not entirely together mentally. In the days after Weirdmageddon, that had probably been an asset to the town as it allowed most of the people to shield their minds from the traumas of the strangeness that Bill had brought into this world. Ford was frankly impressed by how quickly the town seemed to have moved forward. Their buildings were being rebuilt, and their troubled buried under the rubble.

But the unique character of the town also meant that it was an uphill battle explaining that the man they’d known as Stanford Pines was not the man they thought he was. That he was the real Stanford Pines, and that he and his brother were not the same person. That last point in particular was frustratingly difficult to get across. When he went into town for any reason, he was approached by people who would talk to him as if he were Stanley. Sharing jokes they’d shared with him, demanding recompense for something he’d done, or asking when he planned to re-open the Mystery Shack. Ford had expected some initial confusion, given how much he and his brother looked alike. But it was becoming abundantly clear that this would be a long-term situation.

Ford went back inside, returned to his desk and did his best to concentrate. On some level, he knew why he was restless. He had wanted to pick up his life where he’d left off, but too much had changed. In the town, and in himself. He wasn’t used to settling down anymore.

The sound of the phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. Ford let the machine pick it up.

“Hello.” The machine played back the recording of his voice. “You’ve reached Stanford Pines. If you are looking for the former proprietor of the Mystery Shack, who also went under the name Stanford Pines, he can no longer be reached at this number. Otherwise, leave a message.”

The machine beeped and a female voice began speaking. “Good morning, Mr. Pines.” It said, a little uncertainly. “I’m calling from the Franklin County Medical Center in Idaho. Your phone number was found on a John Doe that was admitted to the ER here last night. If you could call back at your earliest–”

Ford picked up the receiver, ending the recording.“Hello? I’m here. This…this is Stanford Pines. Could you repeat that?”

“Certainly, sir. There was a John Doe admitted to the ER last night…we couldn’t find any identification on him, but he had your phone number in his pocket. Caucasian male, six foot two, likely in his mid-seventies…he was found in a car with a vanity license plate, S-T-N-L-Y-M-BL…”

“That’s my brother.” Ford said, louder than he’d intended. “…Is he all right? What’s happened to him?”

There was an unbearable pause on the other end. “I’m very sorry. He was admitted with a gunshot wound…he’s currently in intensive care.”

Ford felt a chill run down his spine. “How is he doing?”

“I’m afraid it’s too early to say either way….”

“Either way?” Ford snapped. “What do you mean, either way? Is he going to be all right? Is he…is he dying?”

“I’m afraid it’s too early to say either way.”

Ford went silent, stunned. How…how had this happened so fast? Just a few minutes ago, everything was fine. Now…

“If you want a chance to see him…” The voice continued…the tone was softer, sympathetic. “You may want to come quickly. Quite frankly…” the woman on the other end hesitated, then continued in a quieter tone. “…In my experience, people like him who are taken off the streets do far better if they have a friend or a relative to keep an eye out for them. Make certain they’re getting the care they need.”

“I….yes. Yes, of course.” Ford stammered. “Where are you? Could I have the address….?”

His hands shook as he wrote the address down. The voice on the other end gave him advice and he numbly responded while his mind was working at a thousand miles an hour. He hung up.

###### ...

Ford had probably thought more about Stan in the last few months than he had in ages spent beyond the portal.

It was hard not to. There were reminders of him everywhere. Over the thirty years Stan had lived in his house, he’d transformed almost every inch of it. Turned glass encased specimens into furniture. Turned his storage space into a museum, and his secondary storage space into a ballroom. He was still finding bits of confetti and silly string up in the rafters there. He’d stayed out of the attic after finding a painting of a four-masted sailing ship hanging over what must have been Dipper’s bed.

Ford stepped off the platform and boarded his train, taking the luggage with him. He was still on the no-fly list. He had hoped that he’d be able to rectify that problem with a few fingerprints and a call to an old acquaintance in the shadow government, but no such luck. Bureaucracy ruled the day. Even the fact that he had an extra finger to print seemed to be working against him, since it meant his prints didn’t fit the standard forms and he’d have to wait for a couple of idiots in the lower levels of government to decide what to do about that.

He didn’t really mind. After living in places where air travel technology was far more sophisticated than that of his home dimension, the idea of getting in a modern airplane felt like strapping himself into a barcalounger, placing it in a catapult and pulling a lever. He was more comfortable on a train. Trains also had less security than airports, which at the moment was key to Ford’s needs. He reached down and placed his hand on the hard exterior of the suitcase under his seat, mindful of the weapon that was hidden inside.

A gunshot wound. Someone had attacked his brother, and now he was in critical condition.

Ford silently cursed himself for not learning more details about what Stan had been doing all these years. Even the most unobservant of people could see that he’d been involved in all manner of criminal activity. Stan probably had made just as many enemies in his day as Ford had. And it seemed that one of those enemies had just caught up with him.

Things might be…strained between Ford and his brother right now. Things might be complicated. But one or two things could still be simple.

He’d see to Stan’s condition first. Make certain he was okay. Then, when Stan was ready to talk Ford would find out who did this to him. And whoever had hurt his brother would have a nasty surprise coming.

###### ...

“He’s in room 322.” The nurse walked Ford through the hall, clutching a folder in her left hand. “We moved him out of intensive care this morning. He’s very, very lucky—the bullet passed under his heart and narrowly missed his left lung. But there was a still a great deal of tissue damage and vascular trauma. Everything was made worse by his being left so long by the side of the road.”

Ford nodded distantly, trying to take in what she said. He knew he’d want to remember it later. For now he just wished she’d walk a little faster.

“We expect he’ll need a lot of time to recover. At his age especially, he’s likely to heal slowly.” She paused. “Don’t expect much in the way of conversation. He’s likely to sleep through your visit.”

“Understood.” Ford said. He was counting the numbers on the rooms they passed. 304. 306. 310….

The nurse glanced back at him. “…Do you know what insurance policy he’s under?”

“I don’t know if he has one…” Ford said. It occurred to him that if Stan _did_ have insurance, it was most likely under the name Stanford Pines. “…Probably not.”

“All right. That’s something we can work out later.” She came to a stop outside room 322. “He’s in there. His roommate was just discharged, so you’ll have some privacy.”

“Thank you,” Ford said, hurrying inside. Stan was lying on an elevated bed, asleep. There was an IV in his arm, and a machine monitoring his vitals beside him.

It was a little shocking to see him. Ford knew that Stan’s age had caught up with him faster, Stan seemed to take a perverse pleasure in talking about his age, how rickety and old and broken-down his body was. But this was the first time that Stan had ever really looked _frail_. The first time he’d ever seemed so fragile.

He stood a few minutes, watching the gentle rise and fall of Stan’s chest. The hospital gown hid the bandages and the marks of surgery that he knew had to be there. Stan was breathing on his own, at least. Even if his breath occasionally caught and hitched at something, if the rise and fall of his chest sometimes hesitated.

Ford grew impatient quickly and began to pace around. He realized how much he hated Earth hospitals. The mechanical, industrial nature of them. The clean, white aesthetic. It reminded him of some of the more dystopian worlds he’d had the displeasure of spending time in. He couldn’t understand how anyone could heal in here.

Still, this place had probably saved Stan’s life. He supposed he should have some gratitude to them for that.

Ford sat back down beside Stan’s bed. Obviously Stan needed to stay here for now. Moving him would be too strenuous, and he surely couldn’t get up on his own yet. But once he’d recovered a little more, Ford decided he would take him back to the hotel that he’d booked a room in. He had access to medical knowledge and technology that made this place look like a medieval barbershop. Stan would be better off under his care than he could possibly be here. Whatever injury there was, Ford was confident that it wasn’t beyond his ability to fix.

Ford walked back to the door and grabbed Stan’s chart out of the plastic bin attached to it. Might as well get a head start on seeing what damage had been done. It would give him something to do besides pace and worry.

He sat back down to read, but he didn’t get far. A sentence on the top page stopped him immediately. On the section of the report reserved for findings on the physical exam, a paramedic had written down “wound appears to be self-inflicted.”

Ford stared at the chart, reading the same sentence over and over again. _Wound appears to be self-inflicted._ He frowned, flipping through the pages, searching for an explanation. 

He found details about the path the bullet had taken. He found instructions to the nursing staff indicating that Stan’s room should be kept clear of sharp objects, belts, drugs, and any medical equipment that might provide him with the means for self-harm. Ford found nothing to reassure him, or give him means to deny the realization that had already arrived. There was no old enemy of Stan’s to fight, because Stan had done this to himself.

The chart slipped from Ford’s fingers and clattered to the floor.

###### ...

Stan opened his eyes. Bit by bit, his mind brought together the blurred, scattered memories of the past few days.

There wasn’t much to remember—a vague recollection of waking up with a tube in his mouth, unable to move. The feeling of being carried, the sounds of sirens. Several long moments before that, spent sitting in his car and looking down at the object in his lap, working up the will to use it.

He was alive. And he was a little surprised to find he felt relief at that thought. Not happiness, no. Certainly not joy. But despite himself, he felt relief.

Without his glasses he couldn’t see much besides white light and a criss-crossing pattern that might have been the texture of a ceiling. He didn’t need vision anyway. The sounds and smells were enough to tell him that he was in a hospital. His chest hurt. A deep, dull pain that Stan knew he wasn’t feeling the full force of. The haziness in his brain told him that he was on some strong painkillers.

_Should have aimed for the head,_ he thought grimly. He’d tried at first to put the gun in his mouth and fire, but that had been too frightening, somehow. Instead he’d aimed for his heart…and apparently he’d missed.

“…Can’t do anything right, can you…” he muttered to himself.

“Stanley?”

Stan flinched a little at the sound. The familiar voice was confirmed when he saw a figure enter his field of vision. Even without his glasses, he knew who it was. The last person he wanted to see him like this. Stan groaned quietly, closing his eyes. Maybe Ford would think he’d just been talking in his sleep.

“Stan, it’s me.” A hand on his shoulder made Stan jump again, ending all possible pretense of sleeping. “It’s Ford.”

“I know who you are.” Stan muttered.

“What happened?” Ford asked.

Stan considered, and settled on “I don’t remember.” Too tired to come up with a more elaborate lie.

“You don’t?” Ford asked. He sounded confused. And suspicious.

“Nope. Mind’s a blank.” Stan said.

“…You’re lying.” Ford said after a pause.

Stan had no answer to that. He stared resolutely at the wall, while silence filled the space between them. Ford took his hand back. From the sound of things, he was pulling up a chair to Stan’s bedside.

“What are you doing here?” Stan asked quietly.

“They….they told me that you had been shot.” There was a note of reproach hidden in his words that told Stan he knew even before he said it. “They didn’t say it was self-inflicted.”

“Sorry to waste your time.”

“I didn’t…that’s not…” Ford trailed off. “….Why, Stan?”

Stan turned and looked back at his brother. Wondered if Ford was just asking why because it seemed like a thing he should say, or if he really though Stan’s life was so damned wonderful that he couldn’t imagine…what might have….pushed him…

…It didn’t matter.

“Go home, Ford.” Stan said, turning back towards the opposite wall. He felt the pain in his chest shift and blossom for a moment as he moved, and was grateful for whatever numbing medication he’d been filled with.

“Come on…you don’t really want me to leave.” Ford said. Stan was silent. He found that he couldn’t even work up the will to be irritated at Ford’s knowing tone. “…I’ll bet you at least want me to stay long enough to pay your medical bills.”

That, Stan felt something at. A cold, dark flame inside him at the thought of being dependent on Ford for money.

“I don’t need help with those.” he said.

“Why not?” Ford asked accusingly. There was real anger in his voice, Stan noticed. “Because you won’t be around to be bothered by them?”

Stan was glad for the impaired vision. It meant he didn’t have to look Ford in the eye. What right did he have to be angry at him? What right did he have to start worrying now?

Ford was silent for a long time. “What about Dipper and Mabel?”

Stan felt a chill run down him. He paused. “You wouldn’t tell them the truth. You’re not that much of an asshole.” he said.

Ford was quiet for a while. “What _would_ you have me tell them?”

Stan shrugged. “I’m old. My heart gave out.” he said simply. It felt close enough to the truth.

“I’m not going to tell them that.” The anger was creeping back into his voice. “I’m not going to make this easier for you, Stan. I’m not—-not going to help you to….”

The sound of the door opening made both of them jump. A nurse poked her head into the room.

“Mr. Pines? I’m sorry, but visiting hours are nearly over….unless you’re planning to stay the night, you’ll have to leave soon.”

Ford paused, looking back at Stan. Then he stood and slipped on his coat. “…I’ll come back tomorrow morning.” He said. “Please…please just get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning, all right?”

His voice was pleading. If Stan didn’t know better, he’d swear that his brother was begging him for something. Stan grunted in response.

Ford walked out. The nurse walked in, picking a clipboard with a chart on it off the floor.

“Glad to see you awake, Mr. Pines.” She said, a smile in her voice. Stan took a deep breath, and did his best to tolerate her questions.

###### ...

Ford glanced at the clock beside the bed. Four AM. He sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He knew a futile task when he was at it. There was no chance that he was going to get to sleep. He turned the light on and went to make use of the hotel’s little coffee pot. Better to just begin his day now than return to the frustration of chasing something that he knew very well wouldn’t come.

He kept thinking of the last time he’d seen Stan. How angry Stan had been with him. He’d understood why…of course Stan was angry that he had to leave. He didn’t see why Ford needed his solitude. It wasn’t anything personal.

Well. Maybe it had been a little personal.

Ford had been angry too. He felt angry _now,_ though he couldn’t pinpoint any logical reason why. He certainly didn’t want to be angry. The last thing he wanted now was to get into a fight with Stan…he wasn’t an idiot. He knew Stan would need care right now. Gentleness, not reproach. But anger was so much easier to feel than…Well, than guilt.

The sound of Ford’s cell phone ringing made him jump, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hello?” he snapped into the receiver. “What is it?”

“Mr. Pines?” a voice came from the other end. “This is Diane from Franklin County Medical. I’m sorry to disturb you so early. But we need to know, is your brother with you?”

“What? No, of course not! Why would he be—” Ford trailed off. Suddenly realizing the implications of the hospital calling to ask if Stan was there. “You…you _lost_ him?”

“We believe he may have walked off the premises, yes. We’ve put out a Code Green and are looking for–”

Ford didn’t wait for her to finish. He thumbed the phone off and pulled on his boots. He threw his coat on over the clothes that he’d been trying to sleep in, and was out the door in minutes.


	2. Two

Stan didn’t dare try to run. Even a brisk walk was too difficult for him right now. He took slow, steady steps past the hospital parking lot and onto the sidewalk outside. He looked around, reading the names on the street signs. He didn’t exactly know where he was. He had no idea where his car was…probably it had been towed away somewhere. He doubted it was within walking distance. 

Not that he had any real idea of where he was going. He was kind of amazed that he’d been able to walk out without being stopped. Probably only happened because there was a skeleton crew this late at night. And, he suspected, because they weren’t expecting him to be able to walk very far on his own. A fleeting note of pride went through him at the thought.

The night wasn’t particularly cold but Stan shivered a little, wrapping his jacket tighter against his bare skin. 

His shirt and undershirt were likely lying in the bottom of some biohazard bag somewhere, soaked through with blood. But by some miracle his pants and suit jacket had been salvaged. He’d found them in a bag in his room, with everything else that had been found on him.

He knew running out on his hospital stay probably wasn’t such a smart idea. But turning around and walking back….didn’t seem possible now. He didn’t know where he was going. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. The only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t see Ford right now. And he wouldn’t feel any different come morning. If he was in that bed when Ford arrived tomorrow morning, he’d be trapped. So he was gone.

For so long, he’d wanted to see his brother more than anything. But the sight of him now…

It was worse than anything, the way Ford had looked at him. Worse than the cold, distant look he’d had when he’d told him to leave. Worse than the hateful glare that had followed the punch to the jaw he’d greeted Stan with when he walked through the portal.

After a few blocks of wandering, Stan heard the sound of rushing water. The road up ahead turned into a bridge. By the side of the bridge were some stairs that went down to the river walk, and Stan took them down. Being near the water was always a little bit soothing.

When he reached the river walk Stan took off his shoes and sat down on the concrete ledge that hung over the waves. He’d only gone a few blocks, but he was already out of breath. So tired. Sitting down was a relief. He rubbed his bandaged chest, wincing at the pain that came with every sudden movement. In the back of his mind, a little voice told him that he wasn’t feeling _anything_ yet. That whatever pain medication he was on wouldn’t last forever, and then he’d start to really feel the damage that the bullet had done.

“So what, exactly, is your plan now?” he asked himself.

Despite feeling relief when he’d realized he was still alive, things hadn’t gotten any better than they were that night in the car. He still had no job, no home, no prospects and no money. His body was still a creaking pile of aches and pains, now with a brand new hole in it that would be sure to heal slowly and painfully. With no insurance, he’d have bills he couldn’t pay in two lifetimes. And Ford had seen him at his weakest. After everything else, he’d managed to get just a little more pathetic in his brother’s eyes.

Nothing had been resolved. Things had only been made harder.

He sighed, looking down at the dark, swirling flow of the river. Distantly, he wondered if the cold water might feel soothing against the hot pain growing in his chest.

###### ...

Stan couldn’t have gotten far on foot, Ford knew that. When he realized that the river walk was only a few blocks away, he had enough sense to head straight there. He had a suspicion that Stan would be drawn to the water.

His guess was right. After only a few minutes of searching he saw a familiar shape sitting on the edge of the embankment.

“There you are!” Ford ran over to him, heart pounding a mile a minute. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been, looking for you?”

Stan shifted suddenly as he got nearer, making Ford stop in his tracks. The admonishments that had been building in his throat died back. Relieved as he was to see Stan, the sight of him so close to the water in his current state of mind was frightening. And a voice in the back of Ford’s head was warning him against getting too close.

_You need to stop pushing him._ The voice said. _You need to be gentle with him now. Or you are going to lose him forever._

Ford carefully approached, leaving a foot or two of space between them. He sat down. “Do…you want to talk?” he asked quietly.

Stan sighed. “You should really just go home. You’ve probably got work or research or something to do.”

Ford was quiet for a while. He thought about how to respond.

“Maybe…” he said “I could go home…if you came back with me.”

Stan looked at Ford, who smiled hopefully.

“I’ve been thinking…in many ways it’s your house too. And…maybe it would be nice for us to have a chance…that is, we never really got to…” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I was…probably being unreasonable telling you to leave, before. We could go back together. You could stay there until you feel more….” He hesitated, not certain how to phrase what he meant. “…Well….you could stay as long as you want. With me. What do you say?”

Stan looked back at Ford. “No.” 

Ford balked, surprised. “No?”

“No.” Stan said, looking out at the water.

“But why?” Ford protested. “I thought…”

“Because you don’t really want me.” Stan snapped. “You just feel guilty. You think you _have_ to invite me back to keep me from….” he trailed off.

“Keep you from what?” That quiet little voice reminded him not to press the issue. Not right now. But he couldn’t help wanting Stan to say the word out loud.

Stan didn’t say it. He only glared at Ford, hard, then turned away. Ford couldn’t help but notice him hesitate and wince. He wondered if the morphine was wearing off.

“I won’t go where I’m not wanted.” Stan’s voice was dark and low. Thick with years of bitterness that Ford didn’t know how to answer.

“…What choice do you really have?” he tried. “Look at this rationally–”

“Oh, shut the hell up, Ford.” Stan growled. “Humans aren’t rational creatures, least of all you. Shit, I think you just say words like ‘rational’ and 'logical’ because what you really want to say is 'I’m right and if you disagree with me, you’re stupid.'” He glanced back at Ford. “I’ve got choices. There aren’t many of them, but they’re mine. And I’m damn well going to make them on my own.”

Stan set his jaw. Ford recognized the stubborn, determined look in him and couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just made things immeasurably worse.

“…What are you going to do?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Stan said. “But I’m not going back just to be a burden on you.”

“You wouldn’t be–”

“Like hell I wouldn’t. I asked if you really wanted me gone. You told me yes. You looked straight into my eyes and said yes, you wanted me gone. So what’s changed since then? Are you gonna try and tell me things are somehow different? That you wouldn’t resent me hanging around?”

Ford couldn’t respond. He truly didn’t know how he felt. There were too many conflicting emotions swirling around in his brain, imagining how he’d feel about Stan living with him now felt impossible. But Stan seemed to take his silence as assent. He shot Ford a hard, bitter look that went right through him.

“Just leave me alone.” Stan said. “I’m not your problem anymore.”

Ford sat silently, frozen. Everything he said only seemed to drive Stan farther away. He was afraid to speak for the damage his words might do. Obviously he couldn’t leave Stan, but he didn’t know what else there was. He couldn’t….

A possibility occurred to him.

He pulled his phone out of his coat and began dialing a number. Stan watched him warily out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. After a few rings, there was a click, and a familiar voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dipper?” he said. “It’s Ford. I need to speak with you.”

Stan turned back towards Ford upon hearing Dipper’s name. His brow furrowed.

“Is everything all right?” Dipper asked. He sounded concerned. Ford had tried to make his voice sound normal, but some note of distress must have slipped through.

“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine.” he glanced at Stan. “Stan’s come over for a visit. We were just reminiscing about last summer and we wondered if your parents had given any more thought to letting you come back this year.”

“Well, they keep saying they’ll 'think about it.’ But Mabel’s pretty sure that means yes. They’re just trying to hold out on us so they can motivate us to get our chores done and stuff….”

“Excellent, excellent…” Ford said, only half paying attention to Dipper’s words. “Listen, Stan would really love to talk to you. I’m going to give the phone to him for a moment.”

The second Ford said that, Stan started shaking his head, waving his hands in a 'no’ sort of gesture. Ford had to press the phone into his hand until he relented and took it.

“H-hey kiddo. What’s shakin’?” Stan answered. His voice was shaky at first, but Ford was amazed how quickly Stan managed to throw up a facade of false cheer—grinning widely so the smile could be heard in his voice. Ford wondered how long Stan had been teaching himself to smile while his heart was breaking.

“Hi Stan!” The phone had powerful speakers, and Ford could clearly make out Dipper’s voice on the other end. “Not much. Mabel and I found an old refrigerator behind the apartment building and we’re thinking we might try to turn it into a go-cart.” He paused. “I’m glad you and Ford are talking….”

“Heh, yeah. Me too….” the look in Stan’s eyes was unreadable.

“Who are you talking to?” a muffled voice came from the earpiece. It sounded like Mabel.

“Grunkle Stan.” Dipper replied. “He’s with Ford in Gravity Falls.”

“What?! Let me talk! Let–”

There was a moment of scuffling and muttered conversation on the other line that Ford couldn’t make out.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel’s voice came through the earpiece, loud enough to make Stan wince and pull away a little. “Grunkle Stan! Can you hear me!? I’m on speakerphone!”

“I can hear you, sweetheart.” Stan said, his voice wavering a little.

“Guess what? I finally got my braces off last week! I ate so much taffy that the lady at the candy store started crying.”

“Heh. No kidding?” Stan said. “Pretty impressive.”

“So what have you been doing? We haven’t heard from you since the summer! Grunkle Ford said that you were traveling.”

“Yeah….you know. Life on the open road. Wherever there’s a sucker looking to be parted from his money, I’ll be there.” Ford couldn’t but marvel a little at how smoothly the lies came out of Stan.

“Ford was asking about this summer.” Dipper’s voice cut in. “He wants to know if we’re coming back.”

“Of _course_ we’re coming back. Wild horses couldn’t drag us away!” Mabel said. “You’ll be there too, won’t you Grunkle Stan?”

Stan hesitated, frozen. “…I…”

“I mean, I know you’re busy traveling or swindling people, or whatever you’re doing, but you’ve gotta come visit us sometime! …Hey…you’re not going to be near Piedmont soon, are you?”

“I…I don’t know about that….” Stan’s voice was beginning to shake.

“Please, please say you’ll visit sometime! Or that you’ll come in the summer. Waddles’ll be heartbroken if he doesn’t get to see his hero again. Won’t you?” There was the sound of more shuffling, then a strange, distorted oink that probably meant the pig was being held up to the phone.

“We’ll see, pumpkin. I…I’ll try.” he said softly.

“Mabel, put him down. You know mom gets mad when you let him on the furniture.” Dipper said. “Oh! Hey! I forgot to tell you two, I’ve started a club at school for amateur paranormal investigators! We just started, and we’ve already got five members!”

“There’s Dipper,” Mabel said “Dipper’s friends Mark and Aziz, the creepy janitor who says he was abducted by aliens…”

“He’s…he’s not really an official member.” Dipper interjected. “He just comes by sometimes and tries to show us his scar.”

“And of course, co-founder Maaaaabel Pines!” Mabel added. “I’m the glue that holds the group together.”

“She brings snacks, so no one wants to get rid of her.” Dipper said, the smile audible in his voice.

“Pssht, like you would.” Mabel laughed.

“That’s…th-that’s great, kids.” Stan swallowed hard. His voice was weak and wavering. “Good to hear you’re…y-your’re….”

Stan put a hand over his mouth, pressing hard as a choked noise tried to escape from it. He pulled the phone away from himself and held it out to Ford, pressing his face into his sleeve to muffle the sound of crying. Ford took the phone from his hand.

“Is everything okay?” Dipper asked.

“We’ve got to go.” Ford said. “There’s, er—a chimera prowling around outside. We’ll have to chase it off or it’ll burn the whole house down. Talk to you later.”

Ford hung up before the twins even finished their goodbyes. Stan had buried his face in his hands, sobbing helplessly. He was turned as far away from Ford as his body would allow, as if that could possibly disguise it. Ford nearly reached out to put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, but hesitated, thinking better of it. He just sat while Stan shook and heaved with huge, heavy sobs.

“…I can’t…” Stan whispered after a little while. “I c-cant….I can’t….”

Ford wasn’t sure what Stan couldn’t do. He wasn’t sure Stan knew either. He sat silently beside Stan for a long time, until the crying finally, finally died down and he was left shivering.

“If you won’t stay with me…” Ford began, “just come back to Gravity Falls. Stay somewhere else in town.” There was a long pause. “You’ve been missed there, you know.”

“Pfftt.” Stan muttered. “Sure.”

“I mean it.” Ford said. “People are always asking after you.”

“The cops, maybe.”

“No, really. People in town talk to me about about you all the time. A lot of people ask when the Mystery Shack is going to re-open.” Ford continued. “You know, that Soos kid is trying to put his own tourist trap together.”

Something seemed to change in Stan when Ford mentioned Soos. Something that looked like guilt traveled across his face. His shoulder relaxed and his posture softened, which Ford took to be a good sign. In the silence that followed, Ford wondered if there might be a practical reason for his hesitation too.

“If there’s a monetary issue, I’m sure I could do something…”

“I’m not taking money from you.” Stan said immediately. He paused a while. “But, uh…exactly how _much_ money am I not taking from you?”

“Well…you paid off my mortgage. And my student loans. I think it’s fair to say after all that I owe you _some_ thing.” Stan seemed a little more responsive to that. Charity would be hard for him to accept, but debts were another thing. And Ford had to admit, he did owe Stan something, by any measure of the word. “Maybe we can work something out…after you…get better?”

Stan looked down at himself, touching the wrappings on his chest. After a long, thoughtful silence, he nodded. “I should go back. Probably sent those nurses into conniptions by now.”

“You certainly have….may…may I…?” Ford stood and held out a hand to help him up. Stan looked at it a moment, then took it.

###### ...

The walk back to the hospital was horribly slow. The pain of what Stan had put himself through was clearly catching up to him. By the time they’d reached the parking lot, he was trembling and could barely stand. By the time he was inside, he didn’t resist being put in a wheelchair.

It was a very long night. Ford sat a few feet away while the hospital staff examined his wound to see if he’d need to be brought back into surgery, checked his vitals and finally, finally put him back on the IV and let the merciful drugs drip back into his system. Stan fell asleep shortly afterwards.

Ford had no idea when he fell asleep. He only knew that when he woke up, it was mid-morning and he was slumped in the same chair he’d sat down in the night before.

Stan’s recovery went faster than any of the hospital staff expected. It seemed they underestimated him. He was old and he was tired, but he was still spry and strong. That, along with a little extra-dimensional aid Ford managed to sneak in meant Stan was able to avoid a long convalescence. Which was a relief. The sterile surroundings of the hospital still made Ford nervous.

Ford visited Stan every day until he was discharged. Speaking to him only sometimes, using his voice sparingly. Stan only occasionally said anything back to him that wasn’t a grunt or a shrug. It could have been better. But it could also have been much, much worse. And Ford was grateful that it wasn’t.

###### ...

Less than a week after he’d woken up in the hospital, Stan was sitting outside of a tow lot, waiting for his car. The doctor had said driving was out of the question for someone with an injury like his. But the doctor’d also thought Stan wouldn’t have been able to get out of his bed that night. And that he wouldn’t be recovered enough to leave for another week and a half, so shows what he knew. He was out of the hospital, and he was glad for that.

The sight of his El Diablo being driven up to him was another thing to be glad for. Even if the Stanleymobile was full of bad memories, of heartache and parts in need of replacing, seeing the light of the setting sun glint off her hood again put a little brightness back into Stan’s eyes. He ran his hand along the warm metal door and pulled it open.

“Are you sure you feel up to this?” Ford asked. “It’s a long way to Oregon.”

“I’ll be fine.” Stan said. “Where’s your ride, anyway?”

“I took the train…I’ve been using buses and cabs.” Ford paused, looking tense. “I…I suppose I could do the same on the trip back…but…”

Stan watched his brother fidget. He realized that Ford probably didn’t want him doing that long drive alone, after what had happened. Honestly, Stan wasn’t sure he wanted to do it alone either.

“Ah, get in.” he said. “Might as well save you the cost of a ticket. And it’ll be nice to have someone doing half the driving.”

“I…uh….” Ford hesitated at the door, looking sheepish. “…I don’t remember how to drive a car.”

Stan stared at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“It’s been thirty years.” he shrugged. “It’s why I took the train.”

“Pssht. Well, c'mon then. You’ll have me to teach you again.”

The two of them got inside. Stan buckled up and turned the key in the ignition. The protesting engine reluctantly sputtered to life.

“I can’t believe this car is still running…” Ford marveled. “How many miles are even on it?”

“No idea. I turned back the odometer years ago when I thought I was gonna have to sell it. …And again, a few years before that.” He squeezed the steering wheel with affection. “Anything good I ever had, I didn’t come by it honestly. Even those kids. The only reason they were staying with me was because their parents thought I was you.”

“What about Soos?” Ford asked. “That kid adores you, and it sure isn’t because he thought you were me.”

“Only reason he knows me is because I skirted child labor laws to hire him.” Stan shrugged. “I’m a cheat. It’s all I’ll ever be.”

Stan reached down to adjust the seat. The kid who’d driven it up to the curb had been about ten feet tall, and he’d shifted everything around.

“…My research grant was never approved.” Ford blurted out suddenly.

Stan paused in his adjustments and turned. “…What?”

“I mean. Not for the research I was really doing.” He said quickly. “The board laughed at my proposal about anomalies. Said they weren’t going to fund a…a kooky monster-hunting expedition.” Stan watched Ford stare down at his hands, the look of a long-held grudge on his face. This was clearly still a sore spot for him.

“So I wrote a new proposal. Said I wanted to go to Gravity Falls to study seismic irregularities that were only found in a particular area of central Oregon. Made it sound like they might be indicators of a yet-undiscovered supervolcano. All nonsense, of course….the disturbances in the ground were caused by the migration patterns of giant tree-beasts.”

He looked up at Stan. “I knew that proposal was garbage when I sent it to them. But it worked. My grant was approved. I went to Gravity Falls to study anomalies. And at the end of every semester, I’d sit down and write thirty pages of absolute bullshit to send back to the university so they would keep the money flowing.”

“…No kidding?” Stan asked.

“No kidding. My life’s work. All my research…even the worst parts of it, even the portal and the things I learned on the other side…the only reason I was able to do any of it was because I lied and cheated. Because I wasn’t good enough to get it honestly.”

Stan pretended to check the mirror again to avoid eye contact.

“So…I guess we’re both cheats. Huh?” Ford smiled a little.

Stan didn’t return the smile. “Eh. You get away with it more. You’re better at cheating than me. Just like everything else.” he muttered.

“I don’t know about that.” Ford said, putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “…You just cheated death.”

A smile finally formed on Stan’s face.

He turned on the headlights, put his foot on the gas, and started to drive.


End file.
